I Am Draco: Part One Father To Son
by The Pendragon's Realm
Summary: What do you do when your whole world is turned upside down? The war is over; the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters have been destroyed. Draco Malfoy returns to the Manor after his final year at Hogwarts only to find that things are never going to be the same
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Lyrics by Brian May.

* * *

_A word in your ear, from father to son  
Hear the words that I say  
I fought with you, fought on your side  
Long before you were born  
Joyful the sound, the word goes around  
From father to son, to son  
And the voice is so clear, time after time it keeps  
Calling you, calling you on  
Don't destroy what you see, your country to be  
Just keep building on the ground that's been won  
Kings will be crowned and the word goes around  
From father to son, to son  
Take this letter that I give you  
Take it sonny, hold it high  
You won't understand a word that's in it  
But you'll write it all again before you die  
A word in your ear from father to son  
Funny you don't hear a single word I say  
But my letter to you, will stay by your side  
Through the years till the loneliness is gone  
Sing if you will, but the air you breathe I live to give you  
Father to son  
Father to, father to, father to son  
Joyful the sound, the word goes around  
From father to son, to son  
Kings will be crowned, the word goes around  
From father to son, to son  
Joyful the sound, the word goes around  
From father to son, to son  
Joyful the sound, the word goes around  
From father to son, to son  
Joyful the sound, the word goes around  
From father to son, to son  
Kings will be crowned, the word goes around  
From father to son, to son  
  
(Lyrics - Brian May)  
  
_She had never felt such pain before it circled her hips like a whip, lashing out at her rhythmically. She moaned and writhed in agony although somewhere in the back of her mind was the thought that she deserved it.  
  
Someone was dabbing at her brow with a damp cloth, soothing her with cool water and murmured words of comfort which she couldnt distinguish. The sounds of her own distress was all that she could hear.  
  
Suddenly, she saw a whirl of colour dance before her eyes and someone whispered her name before the world went silent and then as it was obliterated by a blanket of black, she knew no more.  
  
_... probing fingers in her hair, trailing along her shoulder... breath on her neck and warm moist lips whispering in her ear... the weight of a body raised above hers as she struggled for breath... the sudden rush of blood to her head and her cries mingled with another's...  
  
_The sound of a baby crying filtered through the clouded images in her mind and her eyes fluttered open once more.  
  
"It's a boy!" a voice said and she tried to raise her head to see but a wave of dizziness knocked her flat again. The cries grew louder and a figure appeared next to her holding a small bundle. She could just make out a shock of unruly hair and a tiny screwed up face as the little infant bawled at the top of his lungs. A great surge of love for this small person overwhelmed her and she gasped as tears threatened to choke her.  
  
"... so dark though..." a random comment came through to her and she noticed for the first time the baby's almost black hair, the complete opposite of her own platinum locks. Before she could take the child in her arms, a sudden stabbing pain in her abdomen took her breath away and she cried out wordlessly.  
  
Clutching at the sides of the bed with both hands, she knew only of the pain that clutched at her insides though she caught random phrases of the conversation around her.  
  
"...twins... "  
  
The pain seemed to intensify and recede in time with some age old rhythm. Was it her heartbeat? Her thought seemed oddly distant, as though she had taken a step outside her own body and was watching the events happening to herself from afar.  
  
"... cord wrapped round its neck..."  
  
In a massive final surge, the pain faded away as though it had never been, leaving her feeling drained and empty.  
  
"It's another boy." The joyous exclamation seemed strangely out of place.  
  
She heard a commotion around her and then above it all, several sounds of flesh hitting flesh. For some reason, the noise made her flinch and she screwed her eyes tight shut. She could make out various whispers at her feet but they were too indistinct to make out until one final one sounded louder than the rest.  
  
"... no heartbeat..."  
  
"He's so tiny."  
  
"He never stood a chance, the first child took all his strength, it happens sometimes."  
  
Completely exhausted, she could do nothing but listen, staring at the cool darkness inside her own eyelids. So dark...  
  
_"I can't resist you temptress!"  
  
She laughed, a wicked peal sounding clearly on the warm night air.  
  
He ran a finger down her jawline and smiled tenderly at her. She looked back at him, his eyes directly on a level with her own unlike so many men whom she towered above. Those smiling, loving eyes gazing at her only. She sighed inwardly knowing that it couldnt last, no matter how much she wanted it to.  
  
Turning from him, she reached into her pocket and taking out the key, unlocked the door and led him into her house. Stumbling over the step, he lost his footing and practically fell into her arms. Giggling, she caught him as he came crashing painfully to his knees, his arms thrown about her waist.  
  
She felt lightheaded and some part of her subconscious admonished her for giggling and behaving like some love-struck schoolgirl but shaking her head, she ignored it. She wanted this.  
  
Chuckling, he looked up at her from where he knelt in front of her and smiled that disarming grin, which inadvertently made her heart beat just a little faster. She deliberately wet her lips with the very end of her tongue and reached out one hand. Slowly she brushed the unruly tangle of his hair back from his forehand and not so gently forced his head back, making his eyes widen in surprise.  
  
"Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly... " she quoted, then quick as lightning, she struck and forced her lips to his.  
  
_Once more, the sound of a baby's cry penetrated the fog that held her captive and brought her back. She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, blinking furiously as she tried to regain sense of where she was and what was happening.  
  
Footsteps sounded next to her and she turned her head to see a woman bearing two bundles wrapped tightly in blankets. She struggled to sit up and someone rushed to her aid, helping her and then packing pillows behind her back until she was quite comfortable.  
  
The woman smiled at her and proffered the first bundle which she took gently into her arms. The little baby boy that lay there had the darkest hair she had ever seen and a sudden stab of guilt shocked her.  
  
"Don't take no notice of the colour of his hair," the woman said in a soft voice, "it will either change to something entirely different or he will lose it all in a few days."  
  
She ran a tentative finger across his clean smooth forehead, marvelling at its softness. For a moment, there was nothing else; her world consisted of only herself and her son. Her firstborn son.  
  
_"I'm pregnant," she heard herself say rather more loudly than she had intended.  
  
The shock in his eyes was apparent and she instinctively took a step back. "You're what?" he whispered.  
  
"I'm going to have a baby," she clarified. He stared up at her with wide horror-struck eyes and struggled for words. This was not the reaction she had hoped for and she tried to excuse it by saying that it was a completely unexpected bombshell for him, any man would react the same... even her beloved...  
_  
The assistant cleared her throat and she glanced up at her impatiently, until she realised that there was another child. His twin. The second bundle was placed gently in the crook of her left arm and the woman silently took her leave. The white blankets swamped the tiny figure inside them; he was so small as to seem like a doll and so pale, he was almost translucent. Not a single hair covered his diminutive head, neither dark as his brother nor as fair as his mother.  
  
The darker child mewled plaintively and waved in the air the one arm that he had managed to work out from the tightly wrapped covering that bound him. Glancing over at him she smiled and her heart melted. A snuffling from her left arm drew her attention that way, where the diminutive sibling simply yawned and appeared to sleep.  
  
No carbon copies of each other, these twins and she felt sure that their different starts in life would have a great deal of bearing on their future personalities. One so dark and one so fair, they were exact opposites physically but what would their future have in store?  
  
A slight noise made her look up. Over by the door, a tall figure stood cloaked in shadow. She held her breath as he made a small movement and the light revealed the man. Timidly she met the steel grey eyes that held hers for a long minute.  
  
"One or the other. You must choose," he said in a voice devoid of all emotion.  
  
She looked down at her two small sons, glancing between them both.  
  
"How can I decide? They are my flesh and blood, they are my children." Her voice cracked and she drew a deep quavering breath.  
  
"The bargain has been made. You must keep your part of it."  
  
She bowed her head. She had known all along that her child would leave her as soon as it was born but now the moment was finally here, she couldnt do it. She tried to tell herself that he was going to a family who would love him and care for him just as much as she would, perhaps more so as after all, they were barren and this child was one they never thought they would have.  
  
She stared intently at both babies with her heart hammering painfully against her chest. The figure of the man hovered at the edge of her vision as a reminder of what she was about to do. The enormity of the task weighed heavily on her shoulders and she fought back tears, knowing that if she allowed herself to break down now, she wouldnt be able to stop.  
  
She noticed the way her firstborn's dark hair lay mussed on his head and longed to brush it straight but with both arms full she was unable to. The baby opened his eyes and stared straight up at her with brilliant blue eyes. His chubby arms waved as though wanting to grab hold of her and pull her close to him and her heart wrenched. In the crook of her other arm, the minuscule form of his brother lay calmly asleep, blissfully unaware of the momentous decision riding on his future.  
  
Stealing one final glance from underneath her lashes, she took a deep breath and slowly raised her head.  
  
"Take him," she said in a strong voice.  
  
The man reached the side of the bed in several long strides and swiftly took the bundle from her arm. Fixing her visitor with a steely gaze, she fought the instinct to cling to her child as it was taken from her. Instead, she slightly tightened her grip on the remaining baby who whimpered quietly in protest.  
  
At the door, the man paused and turned back to deliver his parting shot. "You won't regret this."


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

I lay on my back, with my head pillowed on my arms staring up towards the ceiling, watching the dappled light of the morning sun play there. The window closest to the bed was ajar, letting a slight breeze through to wash over my chest. It was barely nine and the heat was rising already, indicating that today was going to be a scorcher.  
  
Voices outside the window drifted up and piqued my curiosity but I felt too lazy to move; instead I strained to make out what they were saying.  
  
"... grass turning yellow over on the north side..."  
  
"... herbaceous border taken over by weeds..."  
  
Rolling my eyes in distaste, I tried to summon up the energy to slide out of bed but only succeeded in turning over and collapsing full length on the mattress. Wearily, I rested my chin on my hands and stared at the carved wooden headboard with a mind that was completely blank. Realising that my bladder was screaming out for relief too loudly to be ignored much longer, I hauled myself to my knees, clambered across the bed and staggered into my bathroom.  
  
Once Nature's call was answered, I turned on the shower and clambered in, wincing as the chilled needle-sharp flow hit my sleep-warmed skin. The water beat down on my head in a vain hope my brain would surrender to the drumming and begin to wake up. With a final wide yawn, I rubbed my hands over my face, started to feel slightly more human and looked around for the soap.  
  
There was one benefit to the mandatory cold shower every morning, I mused some time later, wrapping a large towel around my waist and stepping out onto the tiled floor; it certainly didn't encourage you to hang around. Treading carefully across the chilly floor to the vanity unit, I leaned on the sink to peer into the mirror above it, inadvertently catching some of the bottles crowded there with my elbow and knocking them to the floor. Ignoring them, I studied my reflection with assumed nonchalance.  
  
"Not bad, not bad at all," I muttered in approval, turning my head this way and that and feeling my chin for any stray hairs I might have missed whilst shaving in the shower. I rummaged around the cluttered shelves and counter for my comb, finally finding it hiding behind a half-filled bottle of cologne and amused myself by parting my hair along the side to see how I looked.  
  
I was always surprised by how dark my hair went when it was wet; it made me look like a completely different person and for a moment I considered changing it, just for kicks. It would have been worth it just for the look on people's faces, but I knew that when it came down to it, I wouldn't change it for the world. It was unique, like I was or at least, unique to my family.  
  
Turning to one side, I sucked in my stomach, pulled my shoulders back and tried to admire my physique but it was a waste of time in a mirror that only showed my head and shoulders. Padding softly into my bedroom, I took up position in front of the full length mirror next to the wardrobe.  
  
Staring at the mirror and my reflection in it, I realised my hair was still parted on one side, making me look a bit of a prat. Ruffling the whole mass with my fingers to get rid of the parting, I ended up simply shaking my head violently till it just settled into place of its own accord. Flicking the ends out of my eyes, I wondered if it was finally getting too long and if I should consider getting it cut.  
  
"Looks like you're peering out from behind a pair of curtains," Father had said the last time he saw me and had ordered me to get it cut. Of course, I'd made some defiant stand about it being my hair and I'd do what I want with it. It was a glorious moment and a wonderful speech, just a shame we had been in different places when I made it.  
  
Wrinkling my nose in thought, I took a step closer to study myself better. I had the same grey eyes and white blond hair as all Malfoys, coupled with the pale skin that would burn within seconds of being exposed to anything approaching summer sun. Always small and slight for my age, my long-awaited growth spurt had never materialised, meaning that at age 18, I was a good head shorter than both my parents. My slender frame meant that should I desire to continue to play Quidditch, perhaps professionally, I was still the perfect build for Seeker.  
  
"You're putting on weight, you know."  
  
"What? Where?" I scowled at the mirror.  
  
"Turn around," the mirror said and I did so, twisting my head over my shoulder to try and see the back of me. "There!" it proclaimed triumphantly.  
  
I couldn't see anything and craned over the other shoulder to see if that made any difference.  
  
"Where?" I wished the damned thing had hands so it could point. I frantically shifted from looking over one shoulder to the other, trying to see what the mirror saw.  
  
"There! Right there!" I raised my eyes to the ceiling in despair and heard a quiet fwump as my towel, dislodged by all my twisting about, finally gave up and fell at my feet. The mirror dissolved in fits of giggles and I caught something about "My mistake, looks fine after all."  
  
Grabbing the towel from round my ankles, I wrapped it hastily around my waist again and threatened the mirror with relegation to the attic.  
  
Sighing, I flung open the doors of the wardrobe and rifled through its vast contents. Every item of clothing had been carefully selected with regards to my colouring and physique, so I pretty much could have thrown anything on and still would have looked fabulous but that wasn't my style. Mind you, I had it on good authority that I could have worn nothing but a coal sack and would look like I'd just stepped off a catwalk. After some consideration, I pulled out a simple pair of charcoal trousers and an ice blue short sleeved shirt. After a quick application of cologne, I dropped the towel on the floor, much to the amusement of the mirror and swiftly got dressed. With a final glance in the mirror, I gave my hair one last ruffle and left the room to seek breakfast.  
  
The dining room was not really designed to be used by one person. I sat in my usual place, at the right hand of the head of the table that practically ran the length of the room and pushed my food round my plate, cringing at the sound of the cutlery clinking against the china. I slouched back in my chair and picked up a slice of buttered toast. Chewing on it, I studiously ignored the house elves who had started to clear away and began instead to devise something for keeping toast warm for slightly longer than the ten seconds it seemed to manage on its own.  
  
Finally fed up of trying to chew something that appeared to resemble cardboard, I threw the half-eaten slice back onto my side plate and stared up at the windows instead. Dust motes danced in the few strips of sunlight that dared to pass into the room. Like the rest of the house, the windows were so high up in the walls and so narrow that every room was permanently dark. In the summer, on days like today, it was a cool sanctuary from the blast furnace outside; in the winter, it was too depressing for words.  
  
Wriggling around in a vain attempt to get comfortable in a chair that was not designed for it, I cast my mind to my plans for the day and was pleasantly relieved to find that I had none.  
  
"Another day of rest and relaxation ahead of you," I said to myself with a smile. "Oh, it's good to be me."  
  
I had a feeling though, that there was something I had to be doing but couldn't for the life of me think what it was. What had I done recently? Frowning, I thought over the last few days. Well, I'd only come back home yesterday from school...  
  
_"Congratulations students, on this, your day of graduation. From here, you take the knowledge we have given you and use it wisely..."  
  
The audience burst into spontaneous cheers and applause and a veritable swarm of hats were tossed in the air. The air was filled with the sound of excited chatter and the scraping of chairs as the audience got up to leave. Students milled around the grounds, little groups swelling and decreasing as the participants moved from cluster to cluster, swapping contact details and posing for photos.  
  
"Malfoy! Over here!" I looked up as my name was called and instantly squinted against the glare of a particularly bright flash that took me by surprise. Out of blinded eyes, I saw a small boy scurrying away as I walked over to the group who had hailed me.  
  
"Who was that?" I rubbed my eyes viscously and tried to get rid of the dancing colours.  
  
"Creevy, I think, he's a fourth year?" Pansy Parkinson replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder and sniffing in disdain.  
  
"He's lucky I'm in a good mood," I stated, "otherwise, he'd be wearing that camera. Internally."  
  
"Oh, leave him alone, we're not going to be bothered by him anymore."  
  
"What bliss, no more school, no more stupid first years, no more Potions homework!" Blaise Zabini joined in with a big grin and the others agreed.  
  
Feeling strangely detached from the whole situation, I just stood back and listened to cries of merriment and celebration all around me. The Triumvirate stood over by the wall in the shade, looking strangely depleted despite the continuous flux of fellow Gryffindors and general hangers-on. I watched them silently for a few moments till a comment from Pansy got my attention.  
  
"So Draco, what are you going to do?"  
  
"Do?" I echoed, "With what?"  
  
"With your life!"  
_  
My eyes snapped open with realisation. I was a graduate, my time at school was now over and I was now out in the big bad world on my own. Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I couldn't help but frown. What was I to do? I remembered a comment someone at school had made which had filtered through to me about being an Evil Overlord in Training. My future had all been mapped out from the moment I was born, it had already been decided for me and all I'd had to do was go along with it. Why would I want to do otherwise?  
  
There was just one tiny flaw in that plan though. Apart from the fact that it didn't take my views into consideration, it also pretty much took for granted that there was a need for an Evil Overlord. Not to mention that there needed to be someone to lord it over, as it were. At the moment, there wasn't a great call for it, considering the way the last Lord had been shot down in flames, so to speak. All in all, it was a pretty crap idea as a plan for someone's future career and wouldn't go down at all well to an advisor. They'd probably give you the usual guff about it being a really difficult industry to get into and had you considered being a bus driver or something?  
  
I kicked the table leg in irritation, knowing full well it would have earned me a sharp rebuff from Father had he been there.  
  
"But he's not, is he?"  
  
I shoved my chair back with no concern for the highly polished wooden floor and threw my napkin down on the table before marching off in a fit of pique.  
  
"How dare you do this to me? How dare you plan my whole sodding life for me, without my consent I may add, and then just bloody disappear!" I stormed the corridors back to my room, my good mood completely blown and the first day of my holiday ruined.  
  
"Tut tut, young man."  
  
"Youngsters today, they just have no concern for their elders. I was trying to sleep."  
  
The portraits of early Malfoys muttered in my wake as I thundered past but I paid my ancestors no heed till I rounded a corner at full pelt and practically ran into one of them.  
  
"Mother!"  
  
I came to a rapid halt as I found her slumped against a wall next to the dark painting of an unidentified young man who had shrunk against the side of the frame and was staring at her aghast.  
  
"Mother?" She was leaning on the wall with one arm thrown protectively round her head and I couldn't figure out whether she was holding the wall up or the wall was holding her up. This was not a normal pose for my usually refined and sedate parent.  
  
I wasn't sure what was the best thing to do; should I try to talk to her or just leave her alone? A sudden clinking drew my attention to the hand down by her side, which I hadn't noticed before as her body shielded it from me. She seemed to be holding something, a glass tumbler containing a small amount of a clear liquid and from the ice cubes within, I was prepared to bet that it wasn't water.  
  
Drinking? At this time of the morning?  
  
I took a step to her side and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, feeling as I did so the slight shaking there.  
  
"Mother, I - "  
  
I wasn't sure what the reaction would be. Neither of my parents were what you would call tactile. Maybe a gentle shrug of the shoulder to indicate I should remove my hand or perhaps a small step to the side taking me out of her personal space? I didn't expect her to suddenly whirl round to face me and collapse on me with a great wail and huge wracking sobs. I caught a glance of the young man in the painting who was now looking both hugely relieved and rather smug.  
  
"Talk about out of the frying pan," I muttered inwardly. Mother was putting all her weight on me and although a slight woman, she was still a good head taller than I. Her body shook and I could feel my shirt getting damp where her tears were soaking through.  
  
"Come on now, Mother," I tried to say soothingly, and feeling increasingly awkward patted her on the back. What on earth did one do to a crying woman? Why was this never covered in my upbringing?  
  
There was a muffled response and I managed to make out the words 'baby' and 'gone'. Baby? What baby? And gone where? A repulsive thought came to me and I was horrified. Was she referring to Father? I had a sudden violent urge to vomit.  
  
I had to get Mother back to her rooms somehow but she seemed incapable of something as simple as putting one foot in front of the other. I managed to manoeuvre her so that she was hanging on to my shoulder and I could support her with one arm round her back and the other under her elbow. Coaxing as best I could, we began the slow laborious task of walking down the corridor, and all the while she muttered under her breath.  
  
"Gone 'way," she slurred, "Poor baby," and a fresh deluge of tears assaulted my shirt.  
  
"That's it Mother, this way," I urged, aware that I was half carrying and half dragging her along, while grotesque mental images of my parents plagued me.  
  
"Hurts me."  
  
"Yes Mother, I know it hurts," I replied, adding in thought, "Though not in quite the same way it will hurt you later on."  
  
"Want baby back, my baby," she hiccupped, "Want hold him again, love him."  
  
I had visions of my parents sitting at the table in the dining room bathed in candlelight, gazing into each others eyes in adoration; holding hands and smiling at each other like love-sick teenagers; permanently joined at the lips like some of the kids at school; and then surrendering to a fit of passion and tearing each others clothes off before sinking down onto the bed and -  
  
Trying hard not to retch, I kicked open the door to Mother's bedroom leaving a black streak against the white paintwork and cursed the damage to my shoe. I'd have to get another pair to replace these.  
  
"Here we are, Mother. Now, why don't you just lie down on the bed?" I was aware that I was talking to her as to a child and inwardly winced. I covered the distance to the bed on shaking legs and once there, she just collapsed on it like a rag doll. The glass fell out of her hand and due to the thickness of the carpet, didn't smash but rolled instead under the bed where I left it. Its meagre contents soaked into the carpeting but the house elves would deal with that.  
  
Standing up, I placed both hands in the small of my back and stretched it thankfully. If I never had to do that again, it would be far too soon. With a sigh, I studied Mother, realising that she had either fallen asleep or passed out. She looked pale and tired, and there were dark circles around her eyes making her look so much older; her usually immaculately made-up face was blotchy and her nose was red, while her long hair, her pride and joy, had partly fallen out of its usual chignon and hung stringy and tangled. She had obviously been crying and drinking for some time but the thought of her going to pieces like this over Father was extreme to say the least.  
  
Taking a step back, I heard something crunch under my foot and noticed that I'd inadvertently stood on a sheet of parchment. Picking it up, I saw one or two other sheets scattered over the cream carpet and collected those as well. The sound of barking from outside in the grounds alerted me to the fact that the window in front of her bureau was wide open so a breeze had obviously sent the papers flying around the room. I dumped them on the bureau and reached across it to pull the window shut.  
  
A gentle snoring from Mother reminded me that I was in her private room, a place I hadn't been allowed into since I was a very small child. I felt as though I was intruding and slowly tiptoed out of the room, even though the carpet was so thick, it would have muffled a herd of wildebeest running through. I closed the door softly behind me and leaning back against it, breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
As I walked back to my room, I thought about my Mother who had apparently drunk herself into a stupor over the loss of her beloved husband. It was a most bizarre thought. In the tower room that jutted out from the corner of my bedroom, I sank down into the couch and gazed over in the direction of the portrait of my parents taken on their wedding day. It had hung on the wall directly opposite my bed until I reached my teens and the idea of my parents watching me in bed made me feel quite ill. I had relegated it to the furthest wall where it was hidden in a narrow nook beside my wardrobe. In the photograph, Mother was talking to someone out of shot and Father appeared to be threatening the photographer.  
  
It's hard for any child to imagine their parents as being all lovey-dovey but with mine it seemed to be particularly hard. I racked my brain to recall a moment when they had shown each other anything remotely resembling some kind of affection but drew a blank. I stretched out full length on the couch and pulled at my lower lip, lost in thought. When I really put some thought to it, I was hard pushed to say exactly why my parents had got married at all. Thinking about it logically though, what woman in her right mind would turn down Lucius Malfoy, right hand man to the Dark Lord?

* * *

**References:**

Evil Overlord - **JL Mathews**

****

**A/N: **Many thanks to those of you who left reviews, they are much appreciated.

In Chapter Two: Draco discovers that although he might now be the new lord of Malfoy Manor, getting his inheritance is not going to be as easy as he first thought.


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

"Thank you for coming." I said politely and held out my hand.  
  
"Not at all, young sir. Not at all." He took my hand, gave it a perfunctory shake and released it all in one smooth movement. I resisted the urge to wipe my hand on my trousers and indicated he should take a seat. Taking a deep breath, I walked round the desk and seated myself behind it. Although not the first time I had taken a seat on this side of the desk, I still felt uneasy: my usual position was standing in front of it while Father berated me for some misdemeanour or other. It had been my only reason for ever coming into his study.  
  
Resting my arms on the desktop, I leant forward and met my visitor's gaze unflinchingly. How I hated the sight of this man. His bulbous eyes seemed able to take in far more than just outward appearances and he had a habit of constantly wetting his lips, his little pink tongue flicking over them as though he was gazing at a particularly tasty morsel. He fairly reeked of greed and corruption and I could never understand why Father had chosen him to take care of his personal deeds, papers and financial matters. Even at our first meeting, he had succeeded in making my skin crawl, no mean feat considering my background.  
  
"Mr Brass, you are aware, of course, why you are here." I began, knowing full well my manner was brusque but I wanted the whole thing over and done with as quickly and as painlessly as possible.  
  
"Absolutely!" he assured me and settled back into his seat. "Although I have to say that since we last spoke, events have proceeded as much as I predicted they would."  
  
I narrowed my eyes. Extracting the information I sought from Mr Brass was not going to be easy. He delighted in flaunting his superior knowledge, showing quite clearly the contempt he had for me, knowing full well Father would never have stood for it. I, on the other hand, could do nothing about it but I was determined not to let him get the best of me.  
  
"Very well," I said in as casual a tone as I could muster, relaxing back in my chair, "Please continue."  
  
Mr Brass gave me a slightly startled look and cleared his throat. "As I explained when we spoke shortly after your return from school, the Chancery Court has ruled to place all of Lucius' - I mean - your father's assets and property into a trust to be administered by myself and my associates, until such a time as he can be declared legally dead."  
  
I considered this for a moment, wishing I had demanded to attend the hearing in person despite Mr Brass' insistence that it wasn't necessary. I had initially been satisfied with that, not wanting to spend more time than I really had to in his company. Of course, I wouldn't have understood a single thing anyway, ensuring he would have had to explain it all to me as he was doing now in the presumptuous and condescending manner he seemed to adopt when speaking to me. The less experience I had of that, the better, I felt.  
  
Shaking my head to get my thoughts back on track, I held up my hands for a pause and clarification.  
  
"Legally dead? You mean that because Father's body hasn't been found that he is considered, what? Missing?"  
  
"Exactly," he replied swiftly, "Under the law your father is still alive until he can be declared dead by a doctor. Of course, under the circumstances, that is not possible and so we will have to wait until the seven year stipulated by the law passes to declare him dead. Until then, as I said, the Malfoy assets will be administered by myself and my firm. You need not worry, Master Malfoy, under the terms of the trust, you and your mother will be provided for by an allowance until the declaration of death can be made."  
  
I refused to rise to his condescending use of the title Master. "Under the circumstances? You mean Father's death?" I was painfully aware that I was confused and therefore not presenting myself too well.  
  
Mr Brass was quick to correct me. "The circumstances, Master Malfoy, would be the _supposed_ death of your father."  
  
Unintentionally copying a pose from Father, I steepled my fingers and rested my chin on them.  
  
"Answer me this, Mr Brass," I said, my voice sounding cold and hard to even my own ears, "If Father is alive, where is he? Why hasn't he contacted his wife and only son? And the biggest question of all, how did he manage to survive when no other Death Eater came out alive?"  
  
The solicitor narrowed his eyes at me, flustered for a while and took out an enormous handkerchief to mop at his sweaty balding head. "There is no proof that Lucius Malfoy is dead." he hissed.  
  
I gave him a cool even gaze and said nothing, clearly unperturbed by the turn the conversation had taken although it was obvious he was not quite so comfortable. The silence in the room threatened to became oppressive but Mr Brass gathered his wits and fought back at me, armed with the law.  
  
"Again, under the law, if there is no body, there is no death. Under such _circumstances_..." he stressed the word as though speaking to a child, "your father cannot be considered dead until seven years have elapsed. Only at that time, can his will be read and its terms carried out."  
  
"Seven years," I said in disgust. "What actually happens till then?"  
  
"The estate will be held in trust for you, and will be controlled by the Trustee," Mr Brass explained. "As I said before, there is provision for an allowance for yourself and your mother, and all of the family financial affairs will continue to be dealt with, you need not worry about lapsing into destitution quite yet. But until your father is officially dead, no one who is mentioned in your father's will can have ownership over his property. This ensures that any assets which are made provision for in his will are not sold or disposed of; the trust is to ensure that your father's property is kept intact until the will can be brought into effect, but also to ensure that you and your mother are provided for."  
  
I sighed in irritation and looked away across the study, my mind thinking fast. Trust Father to turn around and do something like this. For God's sake, the man couldn't even _die_ properly without leaving reams of paperwork behind for me to deal with. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn that he'd done it on purpose to test me and make sure I was worthy of inheriting before actually letting me get my hands on any of it. As for Mr Brass... I rubbed my eyes tiredly. There was something strange there. He on his own was enough of a test for anyone, never mind the added complications of courts and trusts and wills.  
  
A sudden thought occurred to me and I voiced it slowly, still considering it even as I spoke. "If Father could be proven dead before the end of the seven years, then I won't have to endure this rigmarole and would simply inherit immediately."  
  
Mr Brass simply looked at me before one of those smug smiles I had grown to loathe intently crept across his face. My heart seemed to plummet down into my boots, as though it instantly recognised I was going to be told something I wouldn't like one bit.  
  
"Actually, that's not strictly true, Master Malfoy." he said and started to take out several papers bound with ribbon from various pockets in his robes. These he spread over the desk and perching a pair of pince-nez on his nose, started to peruse them, eventually picking up a sheet of parchment. Swiftly untying the ribbon and unravelling it, he spread it across the desk in front of me and indicating a particular paragraph with a stubby finger, invited me to read it.  
  
As my son Draco attains the age of twenty-five (25) years, the trust created hereunder for such child care shall terminate, and all the remainder of the assets then contained in said trust shall be distributed to the aforementioned child so attaining the age of twenty-five (25) years outright and free of further trust.'  
  
I read the paragraph twice, but the second time did not make any more sense than the first. I put the parchment down and glanced at Mr Brass who was looking sickeningly smug once again.  
  
"Very well, explain it to me." I conceded in as dignified a manner as I could.  
  
"The main gist of it, Master Malfoy, is that your father has decreed that you will not inherit any of his estate until you reach the age of 25. Again, the estate would have been held in trust for you, and controlled by the Trustee. When you turned 25, the estate would have passed over to you. Obviously, by the time your father can be declared dead and the will brought into effect, you will be 25 already and this trust will be unnecessary - unless your mother chooses to contest the will, you should inherit immediately, once the death certificate has been issued."  
  
Trying not to sound bitter, I said "So things pretty much carry on as they have been doing while I was at school, except you have taken over where Father left off." Mr Brass didn't respond to this and simply pulled the parchment away from my inquisitive fingers and swiftly began to roll it up.  
  
I sighed and slumped back in my chair. I couldn't help but feel as though Mr Brass was quite right in his continued use of the derogatory term Master; it certainly appeared that even in the eyes of my Father, I was not considered to be an adult till I reached the age of 25. I was infused with a sudden flush of anger but good manners prevented me from releasing it then.  
  
"Never in front of the staff." It was one of Father's favourite rules. I watched as Mr Brass return the papers and parchments to the pockets of his robes.  
  
"So what am I supposed to do until such a time as I can inherit?" I asked softly.  
  
Mr Brass stood up and looked at me squarely through his glasses, which made his eyes look even bigger than normal, if such a thing was possible. "Do, Master Malfoy? You don't have to do anything. Even without my assistance, the financial value of the estate is such that if you were to have a sudden desire to buy a new broom every day until you died, it would barely scratch the surface. But if you were so inclined, you could always get a job." He gave a curt nod which I returned automatically. "Good day to you, Master Malfoy."  
  
He turned on his heel and rapidly left the room. I stared after him completely at a loss for something to say.  
  
"A job?" I finally spat in disgust. I stood up rapidly, almost catapulting the chair into the bookshelves behind me. "No Malfoy would ever stoop so low." Granted Father had been employed by the Ministry, but it hardly counted as a job; his real employer was the Dark Lord after all.  
  
--  
  
The library had often been a place of sanctuary. Here I could lose myself in tales of long ago wizards, glory in their triumphs and feel their despair in their defeats. How I longed to have the same powers as they did.  
  
"You are a Malfoy," Father would say to me, "your blood is pure and so is your power." It didn't really give me the answer I sought. Ever competitive, I wanted to know if I would be great. Did I have that in me?  
  
"Every man has greatness in him," Mother replied when I put the question to her, "But it is what he does with it that determines whether or not he truly is great."  
  
Somehow I couldn't help feel as though I was being fobbed off. I wasn't stupid, I knew that much. People took one look at me and saw a pretty blond head so automatically assumed I got by on my name alone. It couldn't be further from the truth; I could do the bare minimum amount of work and still manage to get high marks - though never as high as that mudblood Granger. After all, I had a life outside of studying.  
  
It hadn't always been the case though. As a young child I spent a lot of time here and could always be found buried behind some large dusty tome. Father despaired that I would ever be able to live up to his expectations. I'm sure he envisioned me working at the Ministry, spending my future life cooped up in some untidy office, gleefully cross-referencing facts that nobody cared about apart from myself. That of course, could not be allowed to happen. It went against everything he had planned for me so he made sure that I had other interests and that I was dragged, kicking and screaming to them. Literally.  
  
At least he had the sense to make one of them Quidditch. Mind you, Mother thought he had lost his mind when he announced that he was going to engage a flying instructor for me. Luckily, I had a natural aptitude for it and soon realised that it was much more fun to be outside actually creating havoc than just sitting inside reading about other people doing it.  
  
And now look where I was. Father would be spinning in his grave. If we'd been able to bury him, that is.  
  
I sighed, took up my old position curled up in the comfiest chair and snapped open today's edition of _The Daily Prophet_. With a small shudder of revulsion, I quickly flicked to the back pages and the classified section. Twiddling my quill between my fingers, I began looking through the Vacancies.  
  
"I can't believe I'm doing this." I said to myself. "I'm a Malfoy, for crying out loud." I doodled my initials in the corner of the page. "I just can't let that Mr Brass think he can control my life with his smarmy little smile and his sweaty hands ugh!" I pressed down rather hard and the resulting snap brought to my attention the fact that I had managed to break the nib of the quill. In a childish fit of pique, I threw both quill and newspaper across the room. The quill disappeared into a dark corner but the newspaper separated out and the pages fluttered gracefully to the floor.  
  
Setting my jaw, I simply folded my arms across my chest and sighed. "It's no wonder he refuses to call you Mister, the way you're acting now, Draco." I admonished myself, "if I were him, I wouldn't call you Mister either." The complexities of what I would call myself were enough to tangle my brain into a knot very quickly. I leant my head back against the chair, staring up at the rows of books that reached all the way to the darkness of the high vaulted ceiling. I realised that it was getting late and the already dim light in the room was receding quickly so without a second thought cast a spell to light the lamps.  
  
Hauling myself out of the chair which creaked in relief, I wandered over to the nearest bookshelf and ran my fingers over the jewel coloured leather spines with their embossed gold lettering.  
  
Over in one corner of the vast library was a small door which led to Father's legendary collection of Dark Arts writings. He had books that people weren't even aware had been printed and for various others he owned the only copies in existence. These were kept under a range of wards and protective spells, which I had never attempted to open, knowing that they had been specially configured to recognise Father and only Father. Now he was no longer here and I had taken his place as the man of the house; surely it was my birthright to be able to access them.

Squaring my shoulders and holding my head high, I marched over to the door and took a deep breath. Reaching out, I grasped the doorknob, noting its chilly smoothness against the warmth of my palm, and gave it a quick turn. With a sharp click, it opened easily and smoothly swung open. Peering inside, I could see nothing in the gloom but as soon as I set a cautious foot over the threshold the candles in the wall sconces automatically flickered into light revealing its secrets to me. I suddenly realised I was holding my breath and let it out in a rush as I stood in the middle of the room.  
  
For as long as I had known this room existed, I had imagined what it contained. In my mind, it had become the dwelling of unspeakable horrors safely locked away from prying eyes and fingers. The room itself was to be dank and dusty, full of cobwebs and lit only by a single lantern whilst the entrance would most certainly be secured by a solid oak door which squealed as it was moved. Opening it would involve incantations and possible bloodletting. The books themselves I pictured as old and worn through use and time: dull muted leather bindings where the gilt lettering had faded away, cracked spines and loose dog-eared pages with grease-spots from tallow and oils from fingers staining the parchment.  
  
Having had some degree of acquaintance with the Dark Arts, though not quite as extensively as my fellow students presumed, I saw the books similar to those I knew in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. Books that screamed at you when you opened them without permission, books that read themselves to you, books that only revealed their contents when charms were spoken over them, even books that attacked you and had to be held down with rope.  
  
The reality couldn't have been more different. The room was long and narrow with the doorway at the very end. The wall opposite me contained several windows through which daylight filtered faintly. I belatedly realised how odd this was, considering that wall was in the very centre of the Manor and to my knowledge not an exterior one. Each wall held bookshelves similar to those in the Library except these had mullioned glass doors; the open walls were panelled three quarters of the way up in rich mahogany and ornate carvings decorated the tops. As I stared at the embellishments, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye but whenever I looked directly at it, the motion stopped and the carvings were static wood once more.  
  
There was no dust, no cobwebs and no squeaky door. Somehow I couldn't help but feel cheated. I doubted Father would trust anyone else entering even for cleaning purposes, but neither could I quite picture him rolling up his sleeves and cleaning it himself. I heard his voice in my head telling me, Just because they are called the Dark Arts, doesn't mean that one has to get filthy in the pursuit of them'.  
  
Stepping further into the room, I walked over to the nearest bookcase causing the candles closest to flare and provide more light. Both doors were banded with a thin line of silver round the edge and in the centre where they met, the lock took the figure of a coiled snake in silver. As I moved closer to study it better, it reared its tiny head making the light dance over the scaled surface. I took an involuntary step back and instantly scolded myself for doing so.  
  
"All I need now, is the key." I muttered and slid my wand out of my pocket. I was sure that Father would have intended to pass onto me knowledge of the room and how to obtain access to the literature within at some point but without it, I would have to see if I could work out the puzzle for myself.  
  
Aiming my wand at the snake, I quickly cast Alohomora, but the little silver figure simply yawned at me. Granted it was the easiest and most obvious spell and I hadn't really imagined it would be so simple. Searching my mind, I dredged up every unlocking charm I could think of and tried them all with no luck.  
  
"Why do I get the feeling that the charm I need is hidden in one of the very books I'm trying to get at?" I muttered. I glared at the snake and I swear the damned thing winked at me though it might just have been a trick of the light. Without thinking, I reached out a finger and touched it gently on the top of its shiny metallic head. I expected it to rear up and either bare its fangs at me or sink them into my finger but instead it did the opposite. Subdued, it bowed its head to me as if waiting for some command. I bit my lip. Now what?  
  
My brain went blank. Quickly casting my eyes about me for inspiration, I caught sight of the family coat of arms emblazoned in the coving above me. Without thinking I quoted our motto out loud - _Quando anguis e vita emigrat, venenum suum vestitat infragilis_ - and then a small movement in front of me made me draw in a breath. The tiny snake was writhing over and about itself, coils sparkling in the candlelight until it took its tail in its mouth, forming a complete circle over the join of the bookcase doors.  
  
The dancing pinpoints of light on the snake's metallic skin attracted me and I couldn't help running my finger over its diminutive form. Somewhere in the back of my mind, something was trying to surface. A name. The name of this circle. Round and round in a continuing loop, getting faster and faster, my finger traced the line of the silver snake. I followed the movement of my finger with my eyes, almost hypnotising myself until, like a figure approaching through swirling mist, the name I was searching for revealed itself to me.  
  
"Ouroborous." I whispered and the doors swung open.  
  
If Mr Brass had really wanted evidence that Father was dead, then surely this was it. A small shiver ran down my spine as I turned in a circle, watching all the bookcases silently release their contents to me in acknowledgement that I was now the lord of the Manor.  
  
How did I feel about this revelation? Could I finally begin to grieve over my lost parent now all doubt had been removed? All my life I knew that one day this moment would come and I had been fully prepared for it; particularly so in the last few years. As for mourning, it was difficult to cry over the loss of someone who had never really been there anyway. Besides, I had to be strong now, for Mother's sake.  
  
I moved along the bookcases, glancing briefly at some of the treasures they held. As I'd imagined, many of the books were old and tattered; their leather spines cracked and broken, with the gilt lettering faded and worn away. These books had been well used, if not by Father, then by previous owners. Here and there, a title or author caught my eye: _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_ nestled against _Fifteenth Century Fiends_, while King John's _Daemonologie_ held court with Trimble's _The Dark Forces: A Guide To Self Protection_. I could barely believe the wealth of information held here. The Ministry would have a field day.  
  
A sudden gurgling in my stomach reminded me that it had been some time since I last ate and a quick glance at my watch confirmed that dinner would soon be served. I was loath to leave the room now I had discovered its secret although I knew I had all the time in the world to explore. With a faint sigh of regret that I had to go so soon, I turned and made my way to the door. Behind me, the candles dimmed and the light receded so how I actually made my find, I will never know. Something caught my eye as I passed; it could have been a flicker of flame reflecting off the surface or perhaps a pricking of my thumbs which indicated I was close to an item of particular charm.  
  
Taking a step back and making the lights flare up again, I thoughtfully studied the shelves in front of me. I could see nothing out of the ordinary, just a wealth of information contained within parchment and ink. Biting my lip, I swept my eyes over the spines again and was just about to turn away when something belatedly struck out at me.  
  
Kneeling down with complete disregard for what such treatment would do to my trousers, I stared wide-eyed at the fourth book from the left on the second shelf from the bottom. Instantly my skin began to prickle as goose bumps ran up and down my arms. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped just then. It was such an innocent looking object though undoubtedly antique. Battered brown leather bindings so badly worn I feared the whole thing would just fall to pieces the second it left the protective support provided by its neighbours.  
  
Reaching out a trembling hand, I tentatively touched the spine and snatched my hand back as though expecting to be burnt though mere contact. Realising I was holding my breath, I let it out in one long sigh and gently removed the book from its sanctuary, curious to see it though simultaneously loathe to disturb it. I could barely believe that I was actually holding in my own bare hands, one of the most infamous and controversial books, surpassed in public notoriety only by The Bible of all things. One of the most blood-soaked works in human history, in that its very existence led to the prosecution, torture and murder of tens of thousands of innocent people. The effects of this Hammer were even felt across in the United States, such was its power. I swallowed hard and rising to my knees, took my find to peruse in great detail in a more comfortable setting.

* * *

**References:**

'As my son Draco attains the age of twenty-five (25) years, the trust created hereunder for such child care shall terminate, and all the remainder of the assets then contained in said trust shall be distributed to the aforementioned child so attaining the age of twenty-five (25) years outright and free of further trust.' - **Elvis Presley's will**

"...perhaps a pricking of my thumbs which indicated I was close to an item of particular charm." - **Macbeth, Act 1 Scene 4, Shakespeare**

**A/N:** Many thanks to all who reviewed.

In Chapter Three: Draco proves that he does have a brain in that pretty blond head of his and puts it to work to try and figure out why his father would deny him his inheritance. He makes some startling discoveries and uncovers an intriguing riddle.


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

Something about Father's death and subsequent revelations that I wouldn't inherit till I was twenty-five niggled at me. The more I tried to concentrate on it, the more it slipped away, hiding in the recesses at the back of my mind. I got no rest when I retired for the night either. My mind just wouldn't stop worrying at it so I spent a fitful night and woke feeling drained and out of sorts. I took breakfast alone again which concerned me and I hoped that Mother's uncharacteristic retirement to her room was not going to become a regular occurrence. I didn't pay any attention to what I was actually eating and wouldn't have noticed if I'd been served up fried Flobberworms on a bed of shredded burdock. Finally I spent several minutes staring into my glass of juice, thinking of absolutely nothing.

Possibly due to lack of activity, my brain kicked itself into gear and began to mull over the puzzle of Father's death. The thought that he had held off my inheritance till I was twenty-five was mildly odd when you took into consideration that my entire upbringing was based on the fact that one day he would no longer be around and I would take over control of the estate. Why then, would he deny it to me? It just didn't make sense.

Resting my chin on my hand, I began to give the matter some serious thought. There must have been a reason for Father to include that clause, I mused, chewing on a fingernail. What was that reason; why did he write it? Twenty-five was such a definite age as well - it didn't seem as though he'd just picked it out of the air.

Fiddling with my knife, I tried to put myself in Father's place, to examine his mentality when he was making out his will.

"So I'd leave my estate to my son because I've trained him all his life for that role. He is fully aware of his duty, particularly in more recent times, and as much as he might attempt to fight it, he will concede. But!" I stabbed the air with my knife to punctuate my thought. "But he won't be able to fulfil his destiny until he is twenty-five. Now why would I do that? Unless I knew that something was going to happen to me then."

Goosebumps prickled my arms and I began to sit up slowly as one by one, things began to fall into place. If Father hadn't just picked that age out of the air, then he chose it specifically. That then suggested two possibilities. Firstly, that he had somehow gained prior knowledge of his death so he was able to write his will accordingly. The second thought was the one that really made me pause. Father knew that when I reached the age of twenty-five that he would no longer be alive. However, I was not yet twenty-five and wouldn't be for some time.

Standing up, I began to pace up and down to work out my thoughts logically. Scenario One - Father knew in advance when he would die but had got the timing wrong. Although I had no great experience in such matters - Divination had never interested me - I knew small errors were possible, but an error of several years just didn't seem plausible. So Scenario Two: Father was correct and when I was twenty-five, he would be dead. As I was not twenty-five, then did it follow that he was not dead? I stopped in my tracks and addressed no one in particular.

"But if he is alive, then how did I gain access to his Dark Arts room? And why was I allowed to?"

Was it possible that all of this had been planned down to the smallest detail by Father? It was an unnerving thought, giving me the feeling that everything I did had already been put in motion by an unseen deity and I was just following a predetermined path. This then led to the greatest question of all.

How did Father know?

A sudden memory slipped into my mind and I bit my lip.

_All was quiet. I sat up in bed, listening carefully but heard nothing apart from the usual sounds of the house settling down for the night: here, the creak of a beam; there, the silky soft whisper of a passing ghost. Slipping out of bed, I quickly threw my cloak over the day clothes I still wore and cast Chivato to aid my passage through the sleeping Manor. Opening my bedroom door, I stuck my head out into the hallway and listened carefully once more for any signs of life. It might have been close to midnight but I wouldn't have put it past Father to still be in his study and that was the very room I wanted to go into.___

_"All I want to do is try out my new broomstick," I muttered under my breath. "If you didn't want me to get excited over flying, you shouldn't have got me started on Quidditch."___

_Conveniently forgetting that the whole reason my broomstick was in Father's study was as punishment, I made my way downstairs. Dreaming of what my new broom was capable of and lost in a fantasy involving myself and the Quidditch World Cup, I wandered in a happy daze to the rear of the Manor where the study was. Not that I needed to be able to concentrate on where I was going; the route to Father's study was a well-trodden one although it was safe to say I never usually headed there wearing such a broad grin as I was now. However, it was soon to be wiped away. ___

_I turned the corner into the passageway that led to the study and the lights slowly flickered into life so that I was greeted by the sight of a familiar figure standing in front of the door. Dressed from head to foot in his usual black, he appeared wreathed in the shadows that the candlelight barely held back. Arms folded across his chest in a stance I knew so well, he said nothing for a long moment, just looking at me with cold grey eyes and I froze under his gaze. ___

_My heart thudded painfully in my chest and my hands felt clammy while I waited for my new sentence. It would be extensive; after all, I was openly defying him. After what seemed like an age had passed, I dared to peer up at him under the cover of my hair. Catching my eye, he parted his lips to speak and I quailed.___

_"Go to bed," he said softly but firmly, an iron bar under a covering of silk.___

_"Yes, Father," I replied and as I turned to go, I glanced at his face. An expression flitted across it, not the usual disappointment, but something akin to amusement. Frowning, I retraced my footsteps back up to my room, wondering how Father had known what I was up to. Perhaps he had some kind of alarm system which I'd inadvertently triggered. More than likely I'd made a mistake with Chivato and I'd actually sounded like a herd of elephants instead. I would have to practice.___

A wry smile curled my lips at this recollection but then another later memory appeared in the back of my mind and as I succumbed to it, a shiver crept its way down my spine.

_The crup snarled, baring its sharp teeth in warning before leaping to the attack.___

_"Stupefy!" It seemed to freeze momentarily in mid-air before landing heavily on the ground. I lowered my wand and beamed in delight.___

_"Well done, young Master." The voice sounded impressed and I looked up at Thatcham, the man responsible for most of the security for the estate. I had spent the last few hours learning how the crups were trained as part of my education on all aspects involved in the running of the estate. "Your father will be proud of you."___

_"Do you really think so?" I queried anxiously.___

_"He's coming this way, why don't you go and tell him?"___

_I looked round to see Father striding hurriedly across the grass towards us.___

_"Draco, inside now," he ordered upon reaching us. My heart sank and I wondered immediately what I had done, but I knew better than to ask, especially when Father looked as forbidding as he did right now. I simply began to follow him back towards the house. I hadn't taken more than a few steps when I heard the unmistakable whimper as the stunned crup regained consciousness, but this was followed by a sudden loud volley of barks. A deep growl then made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and I spun round, eyes widening in horror. ___

_Without warning, the crup flew at Thatcham who had been kneeling on the grass attempting to quieten the animal. There was a snarl, a glimpse of sharp white teeth before they sank into the soft flesh under Thatcham's chin, a fountain of red spraying over the green grass and a scream of pain and fear. I clamped my hands to my ears as a flash of green light from behind me brought forward silence, though the sound of the scream still resounded in my head.___

_Feeling sure that this was an error of mine - after all, I was the one who had cast Stupefy - I turned to face Father expecting a severe dressing down. His eyes raked my face as though searching for something before giving a curt nod and telling me to go and clean up. I scurried off to the house before he could change his mind.___

At the time, I had accepted the explanation that the crup had experienced some kind of stroke which affected its reasoning and resulted in the attack on Thatcham and didn't think anything more about it. Now I couldn't help but wonder about Father's timely intervention in summoning me to the house. It could be seen as nothing more than mere coincidence, but if he hadn't appeared just then, would I have been the one lying on my back in the grass as my life spurted away? I bit my lip, concerned that I was probably reading more into a simple matter than the whole situation warranted due to the conclusions I had drawn earlier. I shook my head to dissuade the memories from plaguing me and to end that train of thought before I began to see things that just weren't there.

--

I was curled up in the armchair in Father's study, engrossed in the battered copy of _Malleus Maleficarum_. Since I had found it in the Dark Arts room, it had kept me gripped with a kind of horrified fascination. I was simultaneously revolted and intrigued the further into the book I read, knowing as I did the damage these words had done to the wizarding world.

The door suddenly flew open, banging against the wall with such force that it left both wall and doorknob marked. My head snapped up and my heart leapt into my mouth. For some bizarre reason, I expected to see Father standing there in a blind fury over my ability to access his Dark Arts room: his eyes sparking with barely contained rage, burning fire in his normally pallid face; his luxuriant hair fluffed up in the same way as a cat appears twice its normal size when threatened.

However, it was not Father who had disturbed my reading.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I marked the page before closing the book and standing up politely. "Did you want something?"

"You're always here," she carried on as though I had not spoken. "Leaving me on my own." Her footsteps were unsteady as she made her way over to the desk and leaned on it heavily.

I frowned, trying to follow her train of thought. "But I - "

"We both knew what we were getting involved in and what it would mean, but I don't think you realise the consequences. I'm starting to have doubts, even you must sense that things are out of our control and moving too fast. And Draco - he's not a child any longer and he's not stupid either. You must realise that at least and understand what it means."

I bit my lip, loathe to interrupt the flow of what promised to be full of interesting revelations, but part of me knew it wasn't really for my ears.

"You can't stop what you've set in motion. The cogs are turning, the heavens are in motion and one day - "

Mother turned round and smiled at me, though I knew it wasn't me she saw.

"One day?" I prompted.

"Yes, one day, Lucius. One day." With that bewildering remark, she simply crumpled to the floor as though suddenly struck with the Jelly-Legs Jinx. I threw myself forwards to catch her, paying no heed to the contents of my hands which Id cast aside without a moments thought.

"Mother! Mother, are you all right?" I bore her gently to the ground, heart thudding painfully against my chest in panic. Losing one parent was bad enough, but to lose both could be seen as carelessness. As I leaned close, the sudden scent of alcohol clinging to her breath practically made my eyes water and I sat back in a hurry. Tutting in disgust, in a manner similar to Fathers - a fact which irritated me the second I realised what Id done - I slapped her cheek in an attempt to rouse her, but to no avail.

One swift Mobilicorpus later, Mother was hovering in the doorway of her bedroom while I surveyed the state of the place. The windows were both wide open, the curtains billowing out in the breeze. Sheets of parchment were scattered over the desk and floor. Quickly transporting Mother over to the bed, I released her from the spell and closed the windows.

I pushed some of the parchments aside with the toe of my shoe and debated whether I should leave the mess for the house elves to clear up. Flicking my eyes over them, I sighed and was about to leave the room when something caught my eye. Frowning, I crouched down and picked up a sheet, biting my lip. I was sure I'd seen my own name on it but I knew that didn't give me the right to read it, especially seen as it belonged to my own mother. Quickly looking over at the bed to make sure she was still unconscious, I scanned the sheet I held. Not only did it have my name on it, but the context was enough to make me want to read further.

_A footstep to his left made Harry fumble in his robes for his wand.___

_"Surprised you bothered to show, Potter," a voice said softly.___

_"Lumos," Harry whispered, the golden glow illuminating the pale pointed face of Draco Malfoy. Leaning nonchalantly against a pillar, arms folded easily across his chest, he looked at Harry with disdain.___

_"Let's just get this over with, Malfoy." Harry replied, biting back an angry retort. The Slytherin stepped forward, brushing his white blond hair out of his eyes in a casual gesture.___

_"My thoughts exactly, Potter," he sneered.___

I sat back on my heels, feeling startled and confused. Glancing over at the bed and the still silent form there, I made a sudden decision and swiftly began to gather the pages together. Heart pounding painfully against my chest, I checked the bed for any sign of movement before scrambling silently to my feet and leaving the room.

Sinking into the comfy chair in Father's study, I closed my eyes, finally managing to take a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing my heart to stop thumping so much.

"I don't know why you're feeling guilty about this, it's not like you've never done it before." I scolded myself, opening my eyes and staring at the sheets. I knew though that the fact these belonged to Mother made all the difference.

Shuffling through the pages, I scanned their content rapidly and tried to put them into some sort of order. The more I flicked through, the more I began to read rather than scan. Even though they weren't in the right order and the majority of the writing seemed to consist of scribbles, doodles and notes with the occasional complete paragraph, I soon began to get the gist and my jaw dropped. Goosebumps suddenly tickled my spine and the hairs rose up on my arms, making me shiver. I glanced over my shoulder in the direction of Mother's room and blinked rapidly as my brain tried to take in what it had just read and make some sense of it.

Tugging at my lower lip, I glanced up at the ceiling as though the confirmation I sought was written there. Needing to work things out logically as was my wont, I strode from the chair intending to pace across the floor but with my first step, my foot caught something on the floor and sent it hurtling across to the desk where it collided with one of the legs. I realised it was the _Malleus Maleficarum_ I'd been reading earlier when Mother did her collapsing thing and obviously had just dropped it with no thought for what would happen. It lay opened face down and I winced as I thought of the damage I had inflicted on such a valuable item.

Picking it up with gentle hands, I ran my fingers across the creased pages in a vain attempt to smooth them out. Cradling it in one hand, I touched the spine softly, tracing the creases which ran down it, only then realising that what I thought was a crack in the leather was actually a split right through to the binding underneath.

Biting my lip, I examined the tear with the intention of casting a quick Reparo on it to return it to the state it was in previously but stopped suddenly as something dug into the pads of my fingers and I withdrew them sharply. Carefully prising it open, I noticed something nestled in the gap underneath the leather binding of the spine which gracefully slipped out from its hiding place and fluttered to the floor. Feeling more than a little puzzled, I glanced at the book and then down at a tightly folded piece of parchment at my feet.

Putting the book down on the desk, I picked up the pellet of paper and carefully began to untwist it, noting it was brown and thin with age. Gentle fingers teased open the folds, smoothing out creases until I had the slip of parchment spread out in my hands. In thick black ink, a familiar hand had documented a single brief sentence: _The Lynx will reveal all_. Underneath this, Father had printed his initials and a date of some twenty years previously. My hand trembled as I stared at the writing and for the second time that evening, a shiver traversed its way down my spine.

I glanced at the book, lying silent on the desk and at the sheets of parchment placed neatly next to it. Swallowing hard, I took a step backwards away from them as though moving away could halt the thoughts which began to hammer at my mind, demanding to be dealt with instantly. Crumpling the slip of parchment in my hand, I edged away with faltering steps shaking my head in denial of something I couldn't even bear to contemplate. The feeling of manipulation overwhelmed me and in a sudden fit of rage, I snatched up Mother's writing and stormed from the room. I slammed a mental straitjacket on the reasonings that still assailed my mind, insisting on their right to be heard, fearing that if I gave into them the world as I knew it would never be the same again.

* * *

**References:**

"Losing one parent was bad enough, but to lose both was just sheer carelessness." - **The Importance of Being Ernest, Oscar Wilde**

**A/N:** Many thanks to all who reviewed.

In Chapter Four: Lucius makes an appearance and Draco agonises over his discoveries so far.


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

The house was dark. I was standing over by the window in my room, looking out into the night-coloured grounds of the Manor. The sky was clear, the moon hanging low in the sky like a oversized shining sickle, painting edges with a luminescent glow. The light had a strange viscous quality to it, making objects appear closer than they really were so that I had to squint and focus hard on them. I could pick out various aspects due to their familiarity: the gravel path down to the lake looking like a silvery scar running through the grey black grass; the group of elder trees where I would spend most summers hiding from the sun lest it burn my pale skin and over in the distance, the thick stone wall which marked the boundary of the estate.

All was silent, not even a whisper of a breeze could be heard from outside although I could see the dry empty branches of the trees stretching up to the sky, twisting and turning like the fingers of lost souls clawing desperately towards the heavens. Turning from the window, I glanced quickly round my moonlit room with no idea as to what it was I was looking for, though it felt as if I was waiting for something. The heavy oak door stood ajar and I could see light around the edge, beckoning me out into the hallway.

Even out here there was no indication of any sound; the ghosts and paintings, all usual providers of a low background noise, seemed to be otherwise occupied tonight. Frowning, I turned my attention to the stairs, the head of which I was now standing at, running my hand over the shiny wooden newel post at the end of the bannister.

For some reason that I couldn't put my finger on, I felt compelled to go to Father's study and as quick as thought, I was standing outside the door. There was a strange weight in my stomach, almost as though I was there for a scolding, yet I knew my conscience was clear. Pushing open the door with my fingertips, I peered in, eyes searching the room for any sign of life even though I knew it was an illogical thing to do; Father was gone and Mother was asleep in bed.

The small desklamp was lit, its flame dancing and throwing my shadow into relief onto all walls, twice as large as life. Stepping noiselessly into the room, I wondered why I had felt so obligated to go there as it was quite clearly empty and I hadn't really expected it to be otherwise.

The light flickered, seeming to grow larger yet the room didn't become any brighter and shadows still prowled round the edges. Turning slowly on the spot, I came round full circle and stood facing the desk. Father's large chair stood opposite me, looking welcoming and comfortable, and making me aware of how tired I was. With a quick glance over my shoulder at the door to make sure that there was no one coming in, I moved towards the chair only to be suddenly halted.

Father sat in the chair, side on to me, with his fingers steepled under his chin in a gesture I knew so well. He was talking eagerly but no matter how hard I listened, I couldn't seem to take in what he was saying; instead I found myself captivated by simple things, such as the way his hair glowed in the firelight, each strand appearing as though individually polished; the way he ran his tongue along his full lips to moisten them; the outline of his profile with the family's distinctive strong jawline and nose, and the graceful movements of those long elegant hands with perfectly manicured nails. He seemed to be everything I remembered and more, the specimen of perfect Malfoy manhood I should endeavour to become.

The room retreated, leaving a circle of light edged by shadows, containing Father seated behind his vast mahogany desk and myself standing in front, feeling like a condemned man before the judge. Looking up at Father, the power radiating from him as usual, I became conscious of my slight stature and the way he towered over me, even seated. Never a tall child, the height difference had always made me feel inferior and right now, particularly vulnerable.

Swallowing hard, I cast my eyes downwards and studied my bare feet, rubbing one over the other in a long forgotten manner. My fingers twisted the hem of my pyjama top, worrying at the stitching in an indication of my nerves. I was aware that they were my favourite pyjamas, the green and white ones which I recalled growing out of several years before but the thought shimmered and died like ripples on a pond.

I realised that Father had spoken to me, asking me a question, and I blinked rapidly, trying to recall what it was.

"Draco," he stated firmly, the implied menace resounded in both syllables in that way only bettered by Mother.

"Yes, Father?" I whispered in return, grasping my pyjama top more firmly.

"I asked you a question."

"I - I - I - " Eyes furiously darting from side to side, I tried frantically to think of a response which would appease him and hopefully result in a repeat of the question without getting me further into trouble.

"Look at me."

"Father?"

"Look at me!" he commanded and I peered up at him through my hair which had fallen over my eyes when I'd lowered my head.

Slowly he swivelled round in the chair, coming to face me full on. The lamp was situated at his right hand, so that the left side of his face and body was cast into shadows until the light flickered over it and the darkness fell away. I stared in amazement, unable to tear my gaze from him.

His face was speckled with dark patches which I initially presumed to be the effects of the flickering candlelight, until I fathomed it was where the flesh had started to rot away. The shimmering movement I could see there was due to tiny little maggots feasting on my deceased yet animated parent.

He rested his elbows on the desk top and I realised that the decay was not limited just to his face. The long slender fingers of his left hand were reduced to glistening white bone, the skin hanging from them in ragged tatters.

I managed to summon up the willpower to move and took a step back, shaking my head in denial.

"No..." I whispered. This couldn't be real. My mind couldn't decide whether to turn away in horror from the abomination it was confronted with or to celebrate his apparent return from the grave.

"Draco," Father said clearly though his lips appeared to be dissolving into a gluey mass. "Hear the words that I say."

"Father?" I felt nauseated, unable to believe what my own eyes were showing me.

"Sing if you will, but the air you breathe I live to give you. Listen to the voices in your head."

He smiled at me, the teeth starting to be visible through the thin skin covering his cheeks and jaw, a veritable death's head grin as befitted a walking corpse.

He reached out to me with both hands, the right one now echoing the signs of deterioration as though contaminated by its mate. Against my will, I took a slight step forward. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I screamed at myself to stop, to turn around and just run, but I seemed to have no control over my own body.

"My son," Father said proudly as he fastened his hands round my neck and squeezed.

I screamed as best I could, though the bony fingers were clutching tightly, intent on cutting off my air supply. I was loath to reach up and touch them, to rip them away from my throat. All I could see was Father's maniacal grin and I wanted to close my eyes against the gruesome sight of his ravaged face, as if doing so would just make it all go away.

I felt a drop of sweat run the length of my spine, like a gentle finger tickling me there and shuddered. My face was turning red, my chest heaving and burning, and I knew I couldn't hold out much longer. Though the very idea made me sick to my stomach, I reached up with my hands towards my throat and grabbed at empty air.

My eyes snapped open, my hands fisted in the sheets tangled round my chest as my mind struggled to comprehend. My heart was hammering against my ribs and I was gasping for breath. I struggled to sit up and pushed my hair out of my eyes, feeling it wet and lank against my fingers, realising that my whole body was covered with a sheer film of sweat. Reaching under the pillow for my wand, I whispered "Lumos" and took a grateful deep breath as the gentle light illuminated the room.

Blinking furiously and trying to slow my breathing and heart rate back to something approaching normal, I wiped at my forehead with the back of my hand. Sliding out of bed, I padded across the floor to the bathroom where I quickly splashed my face with water. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, seeing my face paler than usual looking back at me. Running my fingers gently over my neck, I examined it closely, expecting to see bruises there but it was as smooth and unblemished as always. I could still feel the ghost of that tight grip, making me shiver and turning my stomach. It had been a long time since I had been assailed by night terrors and the idea of being so scared by something conjured up by my own mind was embarrassing.

"It was just a dream," I chided myself, "you're too old to be frightened by that sort of thing now."

I climbed back into bed, puffing up the pillows and covering myself with the sheet again. Wiggling into a comfortable position, I let my eyes roam round the room, checking for anything out of the ordinary but refusing to admit that was what I was doing. Nodding in satisfaction that all was normal, I whispered "Nox", returned my wand to its place and closing my eyes, prepared to sleep. Within seconds, my mind was reliving the horror it had just experienced and my eyes flew open to stare at the dark surrounding me.

Feeling unnerved and more than a little foolish, I quickly cast Lumos again.

"Just for a few minutes," I resolved, "until I'm sleepy." It was the kind of bargain I used to make when I was a child in this situation, knowing that I would wake in the morning with my wand still lit. Small consolation, but it was all I had. Although determined that I was past such childish comforts now, I grasped my wand tightly, the wood warm and smooth under my fingers. I turned my mind to more delightful matters such as flying and Quidditch, which always soothed me, and forced myself to dream about a World Cup saved by a mysterious young blond man picked out of the crowd. Yet despite my best endeavours, I was aware that Father hovered on the sidelines of my mind.

--

I slept late the next morning and spent a further hour or so just dozing, feeling reluctant to actually leave my bed. As a result, I ended up feeling sluggish with a head that was so stuffed with cotton wool, it was on the verge of bursting. Even my usual shower failed to rouse me. The mirror reflected back a drawn face with dark circles under each eye which made me despair. As I dressed, I had a distinct feeling of unease which I was loath to attribute to the remnants of my nightmare that still clung to the corners of my mind.

It was more brunch than breakfast time, but I was nauseated by the thought of food so just sipped at a glass of juice instead. My broken night had done nothing for my temper and I snapped in irritation at the house elves, making them scuttle about in fear. Strangely, this didn't make me feel the slightest bit better. Drumming my fingers on the table top impatiently, I wracked my brain for something to do but nothing appealed. Finally I left the dining room and took to prowling round the Manor instead until I found myself staring at the grounds through the mullioned windows of the drawing room.

I couldn't help but notice how the weather seemed to echo my mood: the sky was covered with a thick blanket of clouds in varying shades of grey, starting in the far east with dove grey darkening through to slate and charcoal as they came more overhead. The clouds hung so low that they seemed to be resting on the very tops of the trees. The light had an odd yellow quality to it that made everything appear sharper; edges more clearly defined, colours brighter in a strange contrast to the darkness of the sky. The air practically crackled with electricity making my already tender head ache accordingly.

It was clear that a storm was on the way but I just couldn't stand to be cooped up inside any longer. A walk round the grounds seemed like the perfect remedy for my restlessness. Grabbing my cloak, I practically ran out of Manor and into the gardens at the back of the house. As soon as I stepped out into the fresh air, I felt strangely exhilarated though the sky seemed to be close enough to touch and threatening to collapse on me any second.

Taking a deep breath of cool sweet air, I set off strolling over the springy grass and soon came across the kennels and owlery which sat far enough back from the main building so as not to disturb but close enough for quick access should it be needed. Though we had handlers to look after all the animals, I took it upon myself to check on them; as lord of the Manor now, I had to ensure that all aspects of the estate were to my satisfaction.

The birds were fine, gazing at me solemnly with their large unblinking golden eyes as though astounded at my audacity to disturb their slumber. My eagle owl, Malachi, flew to me in the hope of treats and chastised me loudly on finding I had none. Father had always maintained that a spoilt animal was an impudent animal and treated them the same as everyone else on the estate. It was not the only thing we disagreed on.

The crups were not so happy; the oppressive nature of the coming storm unnerved them, making them whine and prowl in their kennels, much the same way I had done in the Manor earlier. One young pup seemed particularly affected and tried to bury itself in the folds of my cloak, huddling close to me to gain comfort from my presence. When I made to leave, the little thing whined pathetically and chased after me with its little forked tail wagging hopefully.

So the pup and I meandered from the kennels through the gardens with no particular destination in mind. The crup was feeling slightly braver now and was happy to run a little way ahead before turning to make sure I was still following. I was paying no attention to where my feet were taking me; my mind was occupied with the occasional flashbacks from the vision in the night and a strange sensation that I was heading towards something, something I couldn't avoid. It was a feeling not unlike falling.

A gentle breeze wafted over my face, trailing with it a familiar scent. For a second, I couldn't place it until I realised it was the perfume from Mother's beloved rose garden. She loved to tend it, tying back a stray branch here, pruning a bush there, all with a mere wave of her wand. With a smile, I remembered one occasion where the roses dared to reveal themselves as a pure simple white rather than the blood red blooms she had expected and she painstakingly ensured that every single one was transformed to the required shade.

The gravel path crunched under my feet as I strolled round the neglected garden. Roses drooped in an untidy manner as though the branches couldn't bear the weight of the flowers. Scattered petals littered the earth like confetti. Here and there, spiders had taken advantage to decorate the bushes with webs, bridging the gap between them and giving the area a forlorn air. I wondered how long it had been since Mother had been here, since she'd been _anywhere_ . Looking back at the Manor, I sought out the windows of her suite and my heart sank as I noticed the curtains were still drawn.

The crup began to get bored of just standing around and decided to chase after the edges of my cloak which danced on the slowly increasing breeze. Watching it brought another image to mind: that of the curtains in Mother's room billowing out as pieces of parchment fluttered to the carpet like autumn leaves. I glanced up at Mother's window once more, sighed in exasperation and began to walk. The crup chased after me, yelping in enjoyment and worrying at the heels of my boots. I strode on at a pace as though trying to outrun the thoughts I had been denying; they had been withheld for too long and sensing a weakening in my resolve, one by one started to creep slowly into my mind.

"What on earth is going on?" The words burst from me, fracturing the eerie silence. "What does it all mean?" The pup looked up at me questioningly as it ran along by my side. I glanced down at it, and spat the name with a sneer, "Potter." I shook my head in general distaste and puzzlement, then frowned and stood still for a second, head cocked slightly to one side as I thought. "Why is Mother writing about Potter?" It didn't make any sense to me and with a sigh, I began to walk again.

Before long, another thought worked its way through. "Where's she getting her information from though?" My feet led me along an unseen path and I just followed unquestioningly, feeling the steadily growing wind whip my cloak round my legs and blowing my hair into my eyes. Brushing it away with an impatient gesture, I tried to recall a particular passage I had read. "It was about a duel, the duel I had with Potter." I grinned down at the crup, treating it like a cross between a confidant and a sounding board. "One of several duels actually but this was the last one, just several weeks before - " I trailed off and took a deep breath. Just before my world began to unravel, I thought to myself.

I walked along in silence for a moment, going over the events of the last few weeks when the world seemed to spin and no one was really sure which way it was going to settle back down again. _If_ it was going to settle back down again. Even at home, things were all topsy turvy; ordinarily the first few days of my return from Hogwarts would have warranted something that I could only describe as a grilling from Mother as to all the events of the school year. I loved the fact that she showed so much interest in what I did, such a change from Father who had started to spend more and more time cooped up in his study that I doubted he would have noticed if I'd not returned at all.

I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks, making the pup bash its nose in the back of my boots and whimper in anguish. "It was me," I whispered, "I was the source." I slapped my hand against my forehead and slowly dragged it over my face as realisation hit. "I can't believe it, I gave Mother all the information she needed. And there I was, all the time, thinking she was interested in _me_. How could I have been so blind?" I let my arm drop back down to my side and my shoulders sagged. The one person I thought I could actually rely on appeared to have been using me just like all the rest. I swallowed hard and set my jaw before emotion could cloud my thinking.

I felt lost. I slowly turned round in a circle, casting my eyes about me for help and inspiration and found none. I shivered for no particular reason and drew my cloak tighter around me. "Someone walking over my grave," I muttered to myself. An image from the nightmare forced its way into my mind at those words and I wished the thing would stop plaguing me so. Once again my skin crawled at the image of my partially decayed father, seated comfortably behind his desk in the study. Softly I heard his words repeated as though he was whispering them into my ear, "_Listen to the voices in your head..._" and I capitulated.

My mind span with the energy of a multitude of unanswered questions. I was vaguely aware of the sky darkening above me, the crup whimpering and clinging to my heel once more, my cloak whipping about my legs like a live thing. Running my eyes over the grey stone building before me, I knew I would never find the answers I sought out here.

* * *

**References:**

"Hear the words that I say" - **Father To Son, lyrics by Brian May**

"Sing if you will, but the air you breathe I live to give you" - **Father To Son, lyrics by Brian May**

**A/N: **Many thanks to all who reviewed.

In Chapter Five: The pieces are beginning to fall into place but Draco isn't sure he likes the picture. He feels as though Lucius is purposely leading him on a wild goose chase. The Lynx finally makes itself known.


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

A rumble of thunder sounded faintly as the storm began to work itself up for the grand finale. Heavy black clouds now covered the sky, totally obliterating any trace of the sun. The nice gentle breeze had whipped itself up into a frenzy, making the trees lash out in a maniacal dance. The rain and lightning would not be far off and then the fun would begin. It was the sort of weather that made you glad to be indoors; people who hated storms would be cowering under the bedclothes just waiting for it all to be over, while those who enjoyed them would be staring out of the window, enjoying the cosmic lightshow. Storms never bothered me and I couldn't understand those who were afraid of them, after all, a little noise and rain never hurt anyone. 

I had other things on my mind though. I had automatically headed for the library, my usual response to any request for knowledge. The combination of the leaden sky and the high narrow windows meant that the room was full of shadows so I quickly lit the candles. As an afterthought, I also got a fire crackling merrily in the hearth; although summer was well into its stride, outsiders might still have found the Manor a little chilly. However, I was used to it so the fire was more to ward off the silence that hung heavy in the room. The noise of the storm barely pervaded through the thick walls to disturb me.

Unfastening my cloak with fingers that trembled from adrenaline, I casually slung it over the back of a chair before rubbing my hands together in an attempt to calm them. I had forgotten about the crup in my haste but the animal had swiftly followed me into the library and was now settling down in front of the fire making noises of contentment. I was momentarily thrown by the sight of it there and considered taking it out to the kennels where it belonged but my quest for answers had taken possession of me and I couldn't hold it back any longer.

Pushing the thought of the animal out of my head, I tried to stop my mind from spinning as it was bombarded with a barrage of questions. Where on earth did I start? All I knew so far was that I was providing Mother with information which she appeared to be keeping a written record of. The first question that sprang to mind of course, was 'Why?', closely followed by 'Who on earth for?' Sinking into my usual comfy armchair, I gazed up at the ceiling for a second before running my eyes over the rows of books. I let my mind go blank, letting it process the information at its own pace. The recollection of the duel Mother had recorded in her precise handwriting came back to me and I found myself smiling as I remembered the actual event.

"Father would have been proud of me," I said to myself, though the crup turned to look at me upon hearing my voice. "Of course, Father was still alive then and I imagined how differently he would regard me when the news reached him. Mother too; she would be so pleased once I told her." I sighed at the thought of pleasures denied me until I realised what I had just said. "I never told her," I whispered, "I came home from school and she didn't ask, she didn't enquire as to what had happened this year. So how could she know?"

I rubbed at my forehead. Only a few days ago I was trying to figure out the possibility of Father knowing about his own death and now this! It seemed there was so much I didn't know about my own parents. My solution then had been that Father was a Seer; could that then resolve this riddle too? Perhaps he told Mother what he saw and she recorded it. I felt it was a plausible explanation. Getting up from the chair, I paced up and down the library as was my wont, shoving my hands in my pockets as I did so. My fingers touched upon something in the left hand pocket and drawing it out, I recognised the parchment I'd found in the spine of the_Malleus Maleficarum_ the day before. I must have put it there when I returned Mother's writing to her room and forgotten about it.

I smoothed the note out and read it again: '_The Lynx will reveal all_' and there at the bottom, the date which had made me so uneasy in the first place. I hung my head. The feeling of following a predetermined path returned and my anger flared. Father knew what I would do, where I would look and what my questions were so he'd responded accordingly and left information for me to find. The very idea of actually doing what he'd laid out was anathema to me but it seemed I had no choice. If I wanted answers, I had to follow where he led like the dutiful son I was.

"The Lynx will reveal all," I repeated and with resignation, began to put my footprints in those of Father's. If I recalled correctly, a Lynx was some kind of catlike creature but I couldn't see how it could tell me anything. The only animals on the estate were the owls and crups, not a cat in sight. I stood up and turned to run my gaze over the hundreds of books which surrounded me. One of them was bound to contain something to help me in my quest.

When I thought about it later, I realised I had reverted back to doing the one thing Father had always hated me doing: losing myself in research. Funny to think that it was practically at his request. The idea amused me all the more knowing how much it would have displeased him. I could imagine him struggling to come up with a different way for me to find the information, but short of actually writing it all down for me, there was no alternative. Father would never dream of giving me the answers I sought - he would prefer me to work for them. I ordered refreshments to be brought to me and began the unenviable task of working my way methodically round the room.

It was some time later, buried in a book entitled _101 Sinister Spells for Sardonic Sorcerers_ that I moved slightly and was awakened to the fact that not only had I got sidetracked but I'd spent far too long sitting hunched over and my back was aching. Making a mental note to try out the Skriking spell I was reading as soon as I could, I pushed the book back on the shelf and gingerly clambered to my feet. Raising my arms above my head, I leant as far back as was comfortable to stretch out my cramped muscles and in doing so, noticed the silver tray sitting untouched on a nearby end table. I poured a glass of juice and munched on a pop biscuit which made the crup rush over to me in the hope of being fed. Breaking a biscuit into pieces and making the animal beg for each one, I found my spirits had risen remarkably in the last couple of hours, although I was still no closer to finding any answers. At one time, I would have been content to bury myself in books but having to do so against my will didn't give me quite the same level of enjoyment. Besides, I was too impatient to discover the solutions to find any pleasure in the task as I would have done previously.

I sat on the floor, leaning against a row of hefty tomes and the crup came to curl up at my side, licking my fingers for any remaining biscuit crumbs. Finding none, it rested its head on my knee, tail wagging in contentment and thumping on the books behind as I scratched behind its ears. There was a quiet thud as one thick volume was pushed to the back of the shelf and the neighbouring ones collapsed without its support. Stretching over the animal, I tried to retrieve the fallen book but only succeeding in knocking more over. Pushing the pup out of the way, I hauled myself to my knees and sorted out the situation. Holding the books back with one arm, I replaced the others one by one, giving each a quick appraisal as I did so. The last was entitled _Muggle Animals and Other Strange Creatures_and sitting back on my heels, I quickly flicked to the Contents page. Running my finger down the list of entries, I found _Cats, Large and Small and In Between_.

"This sounds promising," I informed the crup who pushed its head under my arm to try and see what I was looking at. Rapidly turning to the indicated page, I skimread until I came across something which made me stop. "Aha, now listen to this!" I told the creature animatedly, and sitting crosslegged, read aloud: "Another of these is the lynx. A stout bodied animal with thick soft fur and a short, stubby tail, this cat is characterised by disproportionately long legs and large heavy paws as well as having a tuft of hair at the tip of each ear. Lynx are particularly agile climbers and in good weather will spend a great deal of their time on the limbs of trees, waiting for their prey to pass underneath. In bad weather, they take shelter in caves or in hollow trees and logs. In the wizarding world however, the Lynx is the knower of secrets, symbolising silence, clairvoyance of the secrets of others, vigilance and non-judgmental counsel. They can help with psychic skills, particularly those of divination."

I shut the book with a satisfied snap and smiled delightedly at the crup who was sat on its haunches grinning at me. "It adds up, you see. The Lynx helps with divination, so that's how it reveals all and that's what the note was referring to." I returned the book to the shelf, still thoughtful. "So it looks like I was right - Father was a Seer. Now all I have to do is work out how this Lynx is going to answer my questions."

Obviously it wasn't going to be a real creature. Presumably I was searching for a picture of one or something representing it. My first thought was that it would be somewhere in the Manor in a place that was linked to Father. That narrowed my search down to three rooms: the Dark Arts room, his study and his private chambers. Being in the library already, I started with the Dark Arts room. As soon as I entered, I remembered the frieze that ran along the top of the bookcases surrounding the room. Standing in the very centre of the room with the candles shedding as much light as possible, I turned slowly full circle to best study the wooden figures. Displayed in carved scenes were important episodes from the history of the Malfoy family: from the first Malfoy who literally stabbed his sibling in the back to ensure only he alone would inherit the estate, to my great-great-grandmother who thought that bathing in the blood of young maidens would help to retain her youthful looks, and practically emptied the nearby villages of peasant girls. I idly wondered if either Father or myself would ever be glorified in such a manner. Somehow I doubted it, especially as I was currently the end of the line.

It was difficult to study the dark images very closely. Not only was I too far away to see any particular detail, the figures had the added distraction of moving whenever I took my gaze off them. Finally, with eyes aching from the strain, I decided I was not going to find what I sought up there. The only creatures I had spotted were owls, crups and the occasional serpent. I turned my attention to the rest of the room but found nothing else. The bookcases were solid wood, decorated with only ornate silver locks which sparkled in the candlelight. There was no other decoration in the room, not even a portrait of Father, so I had to admit I was looking in the wrong place.

I hesitated outside Father's study, my sense of unease from earlier on returning. The crup had followed me here and it sat at my heel, waiting patiently for me to open the door. Pushing open the door with my fingertips, I peered into the room with an eerie sense of deja vu. The room was dark so I quickly ensured as much light as possible gave no shadows for any unwanted guests to hide in. I was inwardly disgusted with my behaviour but with no one to notice or rebuke me for it, I didn't care that what I was doing would be consider improper for a Malfoy. The crup ran around, exploring every nook and cranny with no fear or worries at all before settling down in front of the fire as before and I took some small comfort from the animal's presence.

Father's study was like a smaller version of the library but with more files and fewer books. From here, he ran the entire estate, Mother, myself as well as keeping busy with such work as required by either the Ministry or the Dark Lord. It was a room I associated with punishments and disappointments, a place that was the very essence of Father. Like the Dark Arts room, the study contained barely any decoration. The only colour came from the heavy emerald velvet curtains at the large window in the right hand wall. A simple painting of the Manor hung on the opposite wall over the wooden mantelpiece. I had a quick glance at the cabinets and shelves but they bore no embellishments of any nature. The only other furniture in the room was Father's desk.

Placed in the very centre of the back wall with the door opposite, it was the first thing you saw upon entering. An imposing piece of furniture indeed, it was dark mahogany with classic styling and beautiful in its simplicity. Many was the time I had stood before this desk, with Father seated imperiously behind it, dominating both the room and myself with ease. The surface was tidy, sporting merely quill and inkpot, paperweight and desk calendar as well as the _Malleus Maleficarum_ I had left there from the day before. Father was a meticulous and organised man; everything had a place and that was where it belonged, whether paperwork, staff or family.

I gingerly seated myself behind the desk, feeling wary that Father might enter any minute, even though it was only a few days ago that I had been ensconced here with Mr Brass. How long ago that seemed, so much had happened since then that it felt like another lifetime. I knew that in order to take over as the head of the family I would have to spend a great deal of time in here, so I had tried to get accustomed to it but now it seemed that Father was adamant I would never be comfortable in here. I admired the front of the desk, the elaborate carving and intricate turning, but it was immediately apparent that the pattern was one of scrolls and curlicues without the trace of any animal, lynx or otherwise.

Idly, I pulled open one of the drawers - though I had no reason for doing so - and half-heartedly rummaged through the papers contained there. At some point, I would have to go through them all and familiarise myself with their contents in order to maintain the smooth running of the estate. A familiar crest caught my eye and I withdrew a letter bearing the Hogwarts shield. It was my yearly school report from Professor Snape as my Head of House, countersigned by Dumbledore. The drawer also held the other six, along with letters bearing the Malfoy coat of arms and written in my neat yet childish hand: 'Dear Father, I hope this finds you as well as it leaves me... Another Hogsmeade weekend is planned for two weeks time and I plan to indulge... My classes are going well, particularly Potions, but I fear that studying with the Gryffindors is hindering my learning... Our Quidditch team is particularly strong this year and I believe we have a chance in beating the Gryffindors, especially now that we have the new Nimbus... Kind regards, your son, Draco'.

I sat back gazing at my find with some bemusement. Each of my school reports bore scribbled notes in Father's meticulous handwriting: Not acceptable; Draco must try harder; engage tutor for additional study; discuss with Snape. Father expected perfection from me and made sure he got it. The thought that he had kept the letters I sent him made me feel proud, although I couldn't believe it was due to any sort of sentimental streak. Truly it seemed Father would never cease to surprise me, even though he was no longer with us. I found myself thinking over my nightmare and rubbed at my neck, once more feeling the ghost of those decaying hands. Pulling at my lower lip, I tried to remember what else he'd divulged but the more I attempted to bring it back, the more it resisted and slipped away from my mental grip.

Irritated by my lack of success, I stood up sharply and strode to the door, flinging it open and storming out the room. As I made my way upstairs to my last hope, Father's private chambers, I couldn't help but feel as though I was being led on some wild goose chase and Father was somewhere watching and laughing at me. Stomping my way along the hallway, I muttered curses at him under my breath. Every new discovery simply revealed a more devious and secretive man, a man I couldn't help but idolise and desire to emulate like the true Slytherin and Malfoy I was. However, I wasn't sure I would ever be content to get ahead by blindly following orders and copying what had already been done; I wanted recognition for my own ideas and actions, for daring to do something new. It was something I'd already got in trouble for many times over. From an early age, I had shown I possessed an enquiring mind which had driven Father to distraction but Mother had had more patience and more _time_ . She always seemed to understand what I wanted and was more amenable to answering my questions, or at least helping me find the solution if she herself was unable to provide it.

I stopped mid-rant. There was a time when I would have been happy to ask Mother if something was puzzling me but in her current state of mind, I was unsure as to what response I might get. If she was drunk, would I get any coherent thought from her? If she was sober, would I just push her further into her grief and to drink more? I took a small uncertain step back the way I had come towards her suite. In the end though, what did I have to lose?

I tapped on Mother's door with my knuckles but got no response. I didn't know whether this meant that she wasn't there, was unable to answer or just hadn't heard so I knocked again, louder this time, but to no avail. Gently opening the door, I called "Mother?", hoping she wouldn't be too upset should I disturb her slumber. Taking a few cautious steps into the room, I noticed that the bed, though crumpled, was most definitely empty. I didn't hear any sounds of movement but called her again. There was no reply and my shoulders sagged. She hadn't moved from her suite in days and the one time I came here to find her, she'd gone. I quickly checked her dressing room and sitting room and with some trepidation even rapped on the door of her bathroom but there was no sign of her.

I glanced round the room, wondering whether to look for Mother or to go to Father's chambers as I'd originally intended when I caught sight of the bureau. I stared at it for a second and then walked over to where it stood between the windows. For as long as I could remember, Mother had had this bureau and used it frequently for her correspondence. It was probably a family heirloom and as such an item of great sentimental value to her. Made of well polished mahogany, the bottom section contained three large drawers topped with two smaller ones and above that was the writing section with multiple little drawers, sections for paper, pens and envelopes and numerous nooks and crannies. The writing surface folded up to cover it and keep it secured if necessary but as Mother used it frequently, it was usually open. Today, however, the lid was closed.

Biting my lip, I studied the carved front. It had been so long since I'd seen it that I'd forgotten about the decoration it bore. Surrounded by the typical scrolls and curlicues was a gathering of creatures such as you would never find in real life: on the right, a tree bore a serpent dangling down from its branches and a centaur resting peacefully against its trunk; in the centre, a lamb nibbled at the grass while being carefully watched over by a lion and over on the left, another tree with two bears lying underneath. On a long thick branch that hung slightly lower than the rest was a creature that I had to study closely through disbelieving eyes. It was the unmistakable form of a lynx.

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**A/N: **Many thanks to all who reviewed. 

Coming soon: Chapter Six - the final chapter of Part One: Father To Son in which many questions are answered and Draco makes a monumental decision that will change his life forever.


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